Just A Drop
by EvilAnimeGoodness
Summary: All the while, he just thought ‘Just a drop.’. One of them wishes it was Chasey, the other has no clue this is even happening. T for safety


**Title: **Just a Drop  
**Author:** EvilAnimeGoodness  
**Form: **Oneshot  
**Word Count:** 1,015  
**Summary: **All the while, he just thought 'Just a drop.'. One of them wishes it was Chasey, the other has no clue this is even happening.  
**Genre(s): **Romance, Angst  
**Rating:** PG/K+**  
Pairing(s):** Chasey  
**Status:** Complete-ish  
**Period: **Post-Chuck v. The Ex  
**Warnings/Thoughts:** Argh, I'm so sorry! I know I should be focusing on finishing one of the many other stories…but, yeah. Grr, I really wanted to find some way to put a 'Chuck v…" but it just wasn't working… Enjoy!

.-.-.

To be a first class spy, you had to do just that. Be a first class spy.

And first class spies do not dare to do something as unfathomable as reflect on useless emotions.

Especially incredibly useless emotions like affection and longing.

It just doesn't go together.

That could explain why John Casey was currently residing at the loveseat in his 'home', legs sprawled across the armrests and his right hand comfortably attached to a 191-proof bottle of Everclear. Ugh, he was a step away from being a drunken bride in a tub.

Pathetic.

'_Choir boy?'_ A scowl deepened in Casey's features. And that annoyingly smug grin that he wanted so badly to wipe off. Oh, how he wished to wipe that nerdy look of supremacy off that face. (And he did, on numerous occasions, with a simple glare.) No one gave John Casey that look. _No one._ Not even his esteemed Brigadier General, whom he treated with the utmost respect, dared to cast that look in his general direction.

No one, except Chuck.

Casey didn't really like using such a name – that would imply that he viewed _it_ as a person; a thinking, feeling person just like himself. Those few times that this had happened, John is reluctant to say that he had felt sparse notions of pity. He scoffed.

He was a NSA Agent, not a girl.

Speaking of emotionally driven balls of fluff, his somewhat respected teammate, Sarah Walker was another case entirely. He regretted to say that the CIA official had skill. He regrets this because if she didn't, he could have her transferred to Uzbekistan before he spoke.

God, she was too sentimental for her own good. Always coddling the asset, always putting the asset's feelings into consideration, always taking her gun out the second the asset's in the remotest of danger.

Okay, so the last one was really Casey more so then Sarah. It was in no shape due to the nonexistent emotions he had for the asset. Because the asset is not his friend, and _definitely _not his l-.

No, he wasn't going to finish that sentence.

Teeth begun to grind unconsciously and Casey shot up from his seat to let out an aggravated shout of frustration. Only to lament this decision a quick three seconds later. The head rush alone was enough to bring stars into the agent's view.

Damn gravity.

While he's at it, damn this chair. Damn this villa. Damn this body. Damn this sensation. Damn this feeble person causing these sensations. Damn this day. But most of all, damn that mission. That stupid, stupid mission.

And Guy Lafleur. Damn Guy Lafleur. Damn Canadian bastard.

If it wasn't for him and his damn bio weapons, Casey wouldn't have been poisoned. If Casey wouldn't have been poisoned, had _that_ not happened, then the asset would not have stupidly…

The NSA agent jolted at the dazed state of mind he awoke from, and jolted yet again when realizing that he had been gingerly brushing his lips with his fingers. A deep growl emitted from Casey's throat. His stomach lining was turning red.

(He would never admit to blushing, because John Casey does **not** blush.)

Besides, Chuck said it himself; he just did _it_ to administer the antiserum. Their lips met _just_ to trade a drop of the antidote into Casey's system. That's all.

He didn't feel Chuck tongue clash his, and didn't see the blush that covered Chuck's face. Nope, not one bit.

(God, he was pathetic.)

He also was in need of more alcohol. Turning back to his bottle of Everclear, John Casey realized that it was undesirably empty. Looking at the clock, he discovered it was three o' clock in the morning.

Sigh.

Damn this life of his. It was at times like this, when John Casey would stumble to his bedroom with an odd twinge in his stomach.

It was times like this, that John Casey really could use just a drop more of Everclear.

And, with a sense of confused disgust, it was times like this that made him wonder if Chuck could stomach Everclear. Not much, just a drop.

After a very cynical chuckle, John Casey figured he should stop wondering and go to sleep.

Maybe be there, he'd get some more Everclear. After his head hit a very soft pillow, John Casey smirked.

And maybe there, he'd get more than just a drop.

.-.-.

What… in God's green Earth did I just write? Casey? A, somewhat, love-smitten fool? Was I even close to portraying Casey correctly? …want to tell me? Then you should srsly review.


End file.
